Stray CAT Strut
by Twinings
Summary: Today is someone's birthday, and it's time to celebrate! Whose birthday? Who cares! -CAT-
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I own no part of the DCU._

_Author's note: This is a CATfic (www. catverse. com) which takes place in the summer of 2014, early August, after "Another Year Older" and before a story with the working title "Deathrace 2000." The original reasons for this placement are no longer valid, but the placement still stands._

_For anyone wondering about "Genesis," it is on hiatus until such time as I feel confident writing the Mad Hatter's dialogue, but it will be finished._

_This is for my two favorite recent birthday girls, especially Techie, because I think this was at least half her idea._

* * *

Stray CAT Strut

"Happy Birthday, Squishykins!"

Eyes narrowed, Jonathan Crane put down his newspaper to glare at the three women who had dared to interrupt a rare moment of relaxation. And for what? His birthday was three months away, and they knew it.

"What do you want?"

"Happy birthday," Techie repeated. She popped her thumb in her mouth, and managed to smirk at him just the same.

Was that butter cream frosting she was licking off her fingers? There was a smudge of flour on the Captain's cheek, and a tinge of red on Al's face that could only be from a mist of someone else's blood.

"What have you been baking?"

They all giggled.

"Birthday cake."

"It's not my birthday."

"It's got to be _someone's_ birthday. Don't you want to celebrate?"

He raised the paper again.

"No."

The girls stayed silent for a moment, watching him. He refused to look up.

They came to a simultaneous decision. Al and Techie grabbed the front legs of his chair and yanked, tipping him over backwards. The Captain caught the back of the chair before he could hit the floor, and the three of them carried him toward the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" He clutched at the chair's arms as he lurched sideways. If they dropped him—

"Relax, twitchy. You act like we'd really let you fall, silly boy."

"If you don't want to be manhandled, choose a heavier piece of furniture next time," the Captain added.

"I am not in the mood for this."

"You're never in the mood," said Al. "And I'm getting tired of waiting." They set the chair down at the top of the stairs that led down to his lab.

"You might want to walk from here. I wouldn't trust our balance _too_ much if I were you," the Captain advised. "I mean, I remember one time when Mum took me and Meimei to the mall, and she put _me_ in charge of minding the baby—do you have any idea how hard it is to shield a squirmy six-month-old with your body when you're tumbling down an escalator?"

"I've never tried it," he said dryly, refusing to smile at the image of the girl falling...and falling...and falling. "Are you ready to leave me alone now?"

"Ha. Good one, Squish. Now are we going to have to push you down the stairs, or what?"

"Don't bother. Could you make this quick? I was hoping to give myself a root canal by noon."

"And they say you're a humorless old stick in the mud." They followed him down the stairs.

There in the middle of his lab was a gigantic cake, nearly as tall as he was.

"What in God's name have you done this time?" he muttered. As usual, they took his apprehension as a compliment.

"We baked!" said Techie. Al hugged him from behind.

"I added the cream filling!"

It was then that he decided he wanted nothing to do with this cake.

"I'll be going back upstairs now," he said. "Try not to contaminate anything when the cake explodes."

"Who said it was an exploding cake?"

Oh, sure. As if anything those three touched could possibly _not_ explode, whether they meant it to or not.

"Please just let us cut the cake," said Al. "Please? We did a really good job on this one, I swear."

"Fine, do it," he snapped. "Just stop whining at me."

"_Jawohl_!" She picked up the shovel one of them had left lying against the wall.

"Al, wait a minute! You can't cut the cake with a shovel! This time."

"Why not?"

"Cream filling," Techie reminded her.

"Fine." She leaned on the shovel like a cane, evoking images of the Riddler at his most nonchalant. Jonathan stifled a sigh of annoyance.

"Is there someone in the cake?" he asked. They giggled. "Is it a stripper?"

"Well…sort of."

Oh, for the love of—

"Did you get me a _prostitute_?"

The girls hesitated, smiling.

Then Al shouted, "Surprise!" and they ran for the stairs. He spent an inordinate amount of time staring after they slammed the door. Then, reluctantly, he turned his attention to the cake.

First he picked up the shovel Al had dropped. He didn't _think_ he needed to worry about being attacked by the cream filling, but he could never be too careful.

When he poked at the cake, it crumpled, caving in on itself. Well, he wasn't surprised that their creation lacked structural integrity. The girls' plans and execution only rarely matched up. He poked at the mess again. It squirmed.

"Mmph!"

All right, so there was definitely a person in there. He poked it harder.

"_Mmmph_!"

It was a woman, and she was mad. Well, he was going to have to do something about that, wasn't he?

He started to put on his mask. But before he could quite get it over his head, the cake completely caved in on itself.

Jonathan stumbled back, fumbling for some means of defending himself. All he could see was a pair of bright red knee-high boots flying at his chest.

His mind said "Wonder Woman" as she knocked him to the ground, pinning him, knees cracking the cement on either side of his face. Curly black hair and a gold rope smacked him in the face as she leaned over him, eyes huge and wild. Jonathan stared up at her, frozen.

She grinned at him, a savage, animal-like baring of the blood-hungry fangs. He tried to breathe, and couldn't. She was sitting on his chest, wiggling back and forth, holding him completely immobile between her thighs.

"I didn't do it…"

She growled at him, an inhuman sound. Belatedly, he realized that her fierce grin did nothing to touch her heavily glazed eyes. Her hands were tied together at the wrists, clasped as if she were praying, praying down to him. Her lips were tinted faintly green.

"Are you going to kill me?" He didn't even realize he was asking under the words had left his mouth. Was she? Was she going to crush him between her legs like a thighmaster?

What had the girls been thinking?


	2. Chapter 2

**_Earlier_**

Protests and rallies can make for the strangest company. Especially in Gotham.

But the nonviolent kind should have been safe.

The organizers had been surprised when Poison Ivy showed up, with Harley Quinn in tow. Sure, they had expected her to take some action against LexCorp when the report came out detailing the company's absolute environmental fucktardery.

They just hadn't expected her to show up with a sign. A sign beautifully rendered on markerboard, to be erased and used again.

The crowd of protesters grew. They were joined by Catwoman, carrying a badly injured but defiant little cougar cub whose home had been destroyed. The others welcomed her from a distance.

And then Wonder Woman showed up, and the march went ugly like storm clouds blocking out the sun. Ivy, Harley, Catwoman, and three not so remarkable women who no one else recognized instantly banded together, bristling with hostility against the interloper.

"What do you think you're doing here, hero?"

The hovering heroine glared down at her six adversaries.

"_I'm_ here to put a stop to the pollution that's affecting my home. Why are _you_ here?" She frowned suddenly. Techie, Al, and the Captain found other things to look at. "Stolen any firetrucks lately?"

"Um…"

"Two firetrucks, three ambulances, and a cop car," the Captain snapped. "But this isn't about us." She smirked. "It's about Lex Luthor and his policy of mass murder."

Poison Ivy cheered, earning sidelong glances from the others. She put her arms down.

"Destroying the environment _is_ murder!"

Harley nodded.

"Sure it is, Red. Sure it is."

"Don't patronize me, Harley!" She stomped her foot in frustration. As she did so, a crack opened up in the pavement, spouting forth a cluster of little plant people that reached up to them with eager, viny tentacles.

Only Wonder Woman was surprised by this.

"Great Hera!" She went for the Golden Lasso, which, understandably, left Ivy feeling less than pleased.

"Not my babies!" With much handwaving, she directed her babies to fight back while Harley went for her popgun.

The other protesters scattered.

Catwoman ducked as a poorly aimed vine whipped past her head.

"Ivy! Watch where you're swinging those things!" She ducked again, shielding her bobcat, as Wonder Woman threw a punch at a plant-person that came too near. It exploded in a shower of chlorophylly goo.

"_Baby_!" Ivy wailed. Harley fired her popgun at Wonder Woman. The hard rubber projectile bounced harmlessly off her shoulder and smacked Harley in the face.

"I don't think we can do any good here," said Techie. "You guys want ice cream?"

"Sure." They crossed to the other side of the street, making sure to give Catwoman enough room to swing her whip.

"They're not actually going to take her down, are they?" the Captain said thoughtfully, watching Catwoman snag Wonder Woman's ankle with her whip. Wonder Woman tried to kick her way free, sending Catwoman flying into the air. She clung to her whip for dear life.

"No, Captain. What kind of ice cream do you want?"

"Oh…um…don't want any." Harley threw her useless toy at Wonder Woman and hit Catwoman instead. She fell to the ground and came up hissing at the harlequin.

"Captain, we came all the way over here. You're getting ice cream."

One of the plant-babies caught the trailing whip and scrambled up to wind itself around Wonder Woman's boot. The Captain fidgeted impatiently.

"Blah on your ice cream. I want to go back out and play."

"Go out and play, then," said Al. "Just don't get caught in the star-spangled deathtrap."

"Yay!" She shrugged her way out of her backpack and handed it to Al. "Guard this with your life."

"Sure thing, Captain." The Captain ran back outside to help Harley with her very uneven game of tug-of-war before she lost her grip on Catwoman's whip. Together, the two of them managed to haul the Amazon a little closer to Earth. Catwoman made a flying leap and caught her other leg. Al pulled out a handful of the Captain's pens and started dismantling them.

"They should be doing this in Jell-O," said Techie. Al giggled.

"Do you think they'll set her on fire?"

"Um…no. Why?" The two of them started reassembling the pens, each with the wrong color ink.

"It's just that, if the Captain gets to play with fire, she's going to want a chocolate cherry milkshake when she's done. If not, she'll want something with lemon."

--

Ten minutes later, Al and Techie rejoined their friends and acquaintances, bearing the gifts of lemonade smoothies. The city was going to have to come in and repair all the new dents and furrows in the road, and there was going to be some major construction work in Lex Luthor's future if he wanted to keep his Gotham branch up and running, but the four villainous combatants were still standing. Well, Catwoman was sitting, stroking her frightened bobcat and pretty much ignoring everything else.

Wonder Woman was lying on the ground, bound and gagged, still fighting mad, but so thoroughly caught in her own magic lasso she couldn't even move.

"Impressive collar," said Al. Harley struck a heroic pose.

"All in a day's work."

"Yeah, but Batman's going to be pissed."

Harley looked startled. Catwoman shot them a glare over her kitty's head.

"Why would…" Harley started. She caught Catwoman's stare. "Oh. _Ohh_."

"Not just Batman," said Techie. "The whole Justice League's going to be on you if you kill her." Harley slumped.

"Well, poo. What are we gonna do with her?"

Techie started giggling suddenly.

"We'll take her."

"What for?" asked Al.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. I'm not a mind reader, Techie."

"Who do we _ever_ bring people home for?"

"Oh. Right. It has been a while since the last batch of test subjects, hasn't it?" Al mused. Techie rolled her eyes, impatient with her friend for just not _getting_ it, and turned to Poison Ivy.

"_You _know what I'm getting at." Ivy nodded coolly.

"But I don't see why I should care."

"Oh, come on, Red," the Captain coaxed. "Help us keep her under control. Please?" Ivy frowned.

"Where ever did you get the idea that I was your friend?"

"Aw, let 'em have her," Harley said with a flap of her hand. "You know how much better off poor Professor Crane would be if he got—"

"Harley, you soft touch. What is it with you people wanting to cuddle that prickly pear?"

"Meh," Harley replied. She handed the Captain a tube of her lipstick, custom made by Poison Ivy for just such an occasion. "Here ya go, toots. Just give her a big ol' smoocharoonie. She'll come around to your way of thinkin'."

"Thanks, Harl. You're a true friend." She pocketed the lipstick for later, and the three of them loaded Wonder Woman into their van and made themselves scarce before Batman could put in a daring rescue.

It wasn't until they were long gone that Ivy asked Harley, "Do you remember how I made you immune to natural toxins?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, do you realize I _didn't_ do that for your friend?"

"So?" Harley pressed.

"_So_, Harl, that lipstick is _made_ of natural toxins. To which she is not immune. At all."

"S—oh!" Harley squeaked in both amusement and alarm, a combination she had long since perfected. "Do you think _she'll_ think of that before it's too late?"

"If not, I'd say things are about to get pret-ty darn interesting on the Scarecrow's side of town tonight."


	3. Chapter 3

With no knowledge of the sheer violence of the explosion of cake and sex down below, the Captain, Al, and Techie were watching the news.

Well, to put it more accurately, the news was _on_ while Al read a book on germ warfare and Techie and the Captain worked on a logic puzzle.

Or, to put it even more accurately, Techie worked on the puzzle while the Captain stared at the TV, riveted, red pen dangling forgotten from her hand, thus depriving Al of the expected conniption over the wrong-colored ink.

This wasn't _too_ unusual. Things were blowing up, and explosions did tend to attract her attention. There was a lot of talk about rifles, the technical specs that really made her squirm. But beyond the rifles and explosions, she was staring hard at the image of Deadshot, a man in whom she had shown very little interest in the past.

And she was fidgeting.

"I want his babies." Her friends paid no attention. "And his gun. I want his gun." Techie nodded understandingly. "And his sex."

Al spluttered.

"What?"

"His throbbing manflesh. He can shoot his gun into me any time."

"Captain! What's gotten into you?"

She smiled dreamily at the image of the masked man taking potshots at Batman's feet as he made his escape.

"I'd like to get _him_ inside me."

"Um…why?"

"Because…because because because because because!" She bounced up and down in her seat, fists pressed against her knees. "Manly sex meat! I gotta go!" She surged toward the door, shedding pens and the one tube of lipstick in her wake.

"Captain?"

The only response was the sound of the front door slamming.

Al picked up the Captain's discarded backpack with a puzzled frown.

"What ever happened to 'it goes where I go'?"

"Guess she was in a real hurry."

"Not that much of a hurry. She'd find time to pick this thing up if her face were on fire."

Techie picked up the abandoned lipstick.

"I…um…just thought of something."

Al's eyes went wide.

"Is that sex lipstick?"

"Well, yeah. What else would it be?"

"We were supposed to keep her under control, not get her all riled up! She's probably killing him down there!"

"Meh, he'll be fine. Magic lasso, remember? She can't use her super strength on him. She'll just be sexing him up a little." Al looked outraged.

"Rape isn't cool!" she screeched, and ran for the lab door.

Driven by curiosity, Techie applied the toxic lipstick to her own lips. Maybe the Captain's spontaneous sex drive had been unrelated.

Then again, maybe not.

Perhaps this would be a good time to explain what the girls didn't know about Harley's lipstick.

It was derived from Poison Ivy's pheromones, and worked much the same way, inspiring lust and devotion in anyone who came into contact with the toxin. With a strong, unaffected will feeding instructions to the target, the result was mind control. Otherwise, it was uncontrolled, uncontrollable passion directed at the first human being to catch the victim's attention.

And let's not forget, _that_ way, it tended to spread.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's note: It has come to my attention that I have neglected to post the last three chapters of this story. I...um...forgot? Sorry._

* * *

Batman was pissed, and Robin wasn't quite sure why.

"I daresay you'll understand when you're older, Master Timothy," was all the explanation he could get out of Alfred.

He was seething with frustration. For once, even the old butler was completely clueless. He was fourteen years old, for God's sake. He knew what to do with a girl. He just didn't know why Batman was suddenly so interested in Wonder Woman when he had always had such a thing for Catwoman before.

And of course, Batman wouldn't talk about it. Not one word beyond, "She's a trusted ally." He might as well have been Jack Ryder interviewing the Justice League. When questioned about the Amazon's star-spangled short shorts, Superman had fixed the reporter with a stern glare and said, "She's a respected colleague." The Flash, looking uncomfortable, had called her a friend. And Batman, scowling, had checked his watch.

Batman did have a flair for the dramatic. He never wore a visible watch except when he knew he was going to want to communicate that he felt his valuable time was being wasted. That was usually for Superman's benefit, when the Man of Steel scheduled a press conference or a late-night poker game, or asked him to help the Flash with training they both knew he wasn't going to take seriously.

Okay, so when it came to Batman, Robin could get more out of him than just about anyone else. But that really wasn't saying much.

He sat beside his mentor in the Batmobile, tapping his fingers impatiently against the window. He knew if he spoke up one more time, he would have officially crossed the line into pestering. But what else could he do?

Batman wasn't entertained by his muted drum solo.

"Do you have to do that?"

"It's not like I have anything else to do. You won't tell me what's going on."

Batman kept his eyes on the road; the only sign that he had heard was a faint creak as his grip shifted on the steering wheel. Robin sighed.

"You wouldn't understand," said Batman.

"About girls, or being part of a team?" he grumbled. Batman said nothing. "I have a girlfriend, you know."

An outside observer might have thought that the Batmobile had just lost a wheel, or at least blown out a tire.

"You have _what_?"

"A girlfriend, Batman! We go to school together. I go to school, remember? With girls? She's on the softball team. You'd like her." Batman frowned. "Right. Forgot who I was talking to."

"Robin…" Batman cleared his throat uncomfortably. "This might not be the best time to talk about…but…I think I should…you should know…"

"I've had sex ed twice," Robin interrupted. Batman looked intensely relieved, at least to someone with years of practice reading his expressions.

"Good. I mean, that's fine. When Dick was in school…well, Alfred…" He cleared his throat again. Robin snickered inwardly. "That's not the only thing we need to talk about."

"I know. I can't let her in on my secret identity, and if I let her get too close I'll be putting her in danger. I _know_."

"And what else do you know?" Batman smirked. Robin paused.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you do if a teammate falls in love with you? What if it's a rival? Or an enemy?"

"I'll figure that out when I get there." He said it mostly to annoy Batman, who just couldn't stand not to have every possible contingency planned out to the point of strangulation.

"You'd do better to figure it out before then."

"Yeah, well, I'll be sure to talk to Alfred."

Batman pulled the Batmobile to a stop.

"We walk from here."

Robin got out without a word. He hadn't meant to start fighting with Batman, but everything the Dark Knight did seemed infuriating these days. If he wasn't being a crimefighting rule Nazi, he was acting like a goofy dad, one of those guys who would tromp around the beach in flippers and a snorkel, trying to talk to kids like he was still cool. Of course, most of Tim's friends _did_ think Bruce was cool, which somehow made it even worse, and the girls loved to see him in his swim trunks.

Batman's idea of walking didn't very closely resemble anyone else's; a few minutes later they were perched on the Scarecrow's roof with no one else aware that the space was occupied by anything more than a couple of birds. Batman went through his spy routine with the gadgets and gear. Robin waited, humming the theme song to his favorite James Bond movie under his breath.

After a more cursory inspection than usual, Batman retracted the listening device and stood.

"There are two henchmen on the main floor. The Scarecrow and Wonder Woman are in the basement. I'd prefer to take them by surprise. Can you handle the two guards alone?"

Robin perked up. Was Batman trusting him? With something _important_?

"I can do it," he said eagerly.

"You're sure?"

"Sure, I'm sure."

"Good luck, then, Robin."

He took it back. Bruce would never wear sandals with socks and try to tell a girl she looked fly. For an old guy, he was cool. Most of the time.


	5. Chapter 5

Mavis Dempson was one of the few employees who had given Arkham Asylum _years_ of dedicated service, beating out the seventeen day average by longer than some of the interns had been alive.

Maybe "dedicated" wasn't exactly the right word, but she showed up for work almost every day, rarely left her desk for more than an hour, and never stole anything that would be missed, and during her tenure, there had been fewer screwups in admissions than any other department.

She had never seen a day this busy. Granted, she had never worked the night shift, but it was still remarkable.

First came Floyd Lawton, not an Arkham regular, but a man they had played host to a time or two in the past. Mavis had been expecting him. She had seen him on the news, shooting holes in an armored car and getting himself knocked over by Batman while the police stood around like a bunch of slack-jawed idiots.

What she didn't expect was for a young woman she had admitted once before to come running up the path, badly out of breath and demanding access to Deadshot's gun and pants. Mavis didn't try to stop her. If the nutjobs were going to start coming in of their own free will, who was she to argue? She just hoped that, if the girl was going to become a regular, one of the doctors would see fit to share her real name so Mavis could stop using the fake she'd been given last time.

After she processed Elke Normalverbraucher, mostly from memory, Mavis had three quarters of an hour to spend with her daughter-in-law on the phone before the next bit of excitement arrived.

It was Batgirl this time, leading an uncharacteristically silent Jonathan Crane. Usually when someone brought him in, he was all bluster and threats, reminding everyone that he was still the Master of Fear even in defeat—unless he was screaming his head off or slung, limp, over Batman's shoulder. This time, he was just silent, his face scarlet, his eyes glued firmly to the dingy linoleum. His hair was disheveled, his clothes more so—torn to shreds, in fact, from what she could see under the heavy black cloak draped around his shoulders—and he was holding his sides, awkwardly shielding what she guessed to be a couple of cracked ribs at the very least.

And Batgirl wasn't the one responsible. In fact, she looked like her curiosity was eating her alive.

But he was stubborn, Crane was, and if he didn't want to tell her why his face was so red, by God he wasn't going to.

Mavis made a special note in his file to have him put through a _thorough_ examination in the infirmary. The gossip would get back to her soon enough.

He protested vehemently as a pair of orderlies dragged him away. She feigned deafness.

Batgirl's yellow cape had hardly flapped out the door when The Man put in an appearance. Mavis held her applause. It was nice for Gotham's Finest that they had finally brought someone in themselves, but she didn't think they'd honestly had much to do with it. The young lady wrapped around Detective Bullock, frantically dragging her fingers through his hair, didn't exactly look like she'd been trying very hard to escape.

This one was a friend of the other oversexed Jane Doe. Abby someone. Mavis searched for her file while the orderlies pried her off of Bullock. Ah, there she was. Abby Normal.

Abby normal? Oh, honestly, couldn't anyone just cooperate?

The wackjob came away from Bullock still clutching his trench coat. He looked bemused.

"Eh, keep it. It's getting' too small for me, anyway."

Mavis couldn't imagine why she would want it. Like the man himself, it reeked of sweat, cigarette smoke, and stale donuts. But the girl was clutching it to her chest as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

Mavis reminded herself that she didn't have to try to understand these people, and watched yet another set of orderlies cart her away.

Was that going to be the end of it?

Of _course_ not. The flatfoots barely had time to leave before Pamela Isley and Harley Quinzel arrived to turn themselves in, both beaten to an unusually bloody pulp and looking guilty as hell.

Mavis gave up and went on her break.


	6. Chapter 6

"But what _happened_?"

Robin smiled his most enigmatic Bat-smile, stalling for time. He couldn't tell his new friends the _whole_ story. Batman wanted to keep Wonder Woman's involvement under wraps, and besides, Wonder Girl was sitting _right there_. It wouldn't be very cool to let her in on all the dirty little details of how her mentor had been found sexing up a supervillain, how she'd been holding him pinned with his underwear in her teeth, and Batman had realized he'd come to rescue the wrong person.

And he didn't think they would be very impressed that when Batman had taken Wonder Woman for medical treatment on the Watchtower, Robin had, for once, been allowed to come along, leaving a rather confused Batgirl to clean up the mess they left behind. Meeting Superman? Not such a big deal to his cousin or his clone.

Speaking of which, he found himself distracted as Supergirl and Miss Martian walked past the open doorway. He had to wonder—why didn't Batgirl wear a costume like _that_?

"Hey, red bird. That's my cousin you're looking at."

Robin snapped his gaze back to Superboy with a guilty start. Batman had surprised him, asking Dick to sponsor him for membership in the Teen Titans at the same time Bart and Cassie were joining up. He wasn't going to blow it on his first day, was he?

"Sorry, sorry," he stammered before he realized that Superboy was laughing at him.

"Relax, man. I'm not going to chase you around with a shotgun or anything. That's Pa's job."

To be honest, a mere blast from a shotgun had been the least of his worries, but if the Boy of Steel was going to joke about it, then so could the Boy Wonder.

"Don't worry. Your cousin's honor is safe. I've been in more interesting sandwiches than that." And he brought himself back around to the story that had gotten Superboy, Beast Boy, and Kid Flash clustered around him in the first place.

Maybe he had exaggerated the charms of the Scarecrow's henchgirls a _little_. They were both nearly old enough to be his mother, and not spectacularly well built, but there was enough there to make a young man's blood run hot. He didn't have to add much to the picture.

He also might have exaggerated the attention they had paid him. At the time, it had been quite enough for him that he had them coming at him from both sides like a couple of cats in heat. Batman had come up from the basement and stopped them before they could do more than knock him down and kiss him once or twice, though.

But his new friends didn't have to know that. _His_ way made the much better story.


End file.
